Journal of Macbeth
by hortus-deliciarum
Summary: The secret scrawlings of Macbeth's journal reveal his feelings during his short reign as Thane of Cawdor. Beautifully written, Macbeth describes the last events of his life with love, uncertainty, and ever-growing fear and guilt.
1. First Entry

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim own the characters, setting or plot of this story.  
**Summary:** The secret scrawlings of Macbeth's journal reveal his feelings during his short reign as Thane of Cawdor. Beautifully written, Macbeth describes the last events of his life with love, uncertainty, and ever-growing fear and guilt.  
**Author's Note: **This is something I wrote for my English class. We had weeks to do it and, as per usual, I put it off until the last night. My teacher (of course) said not to do that, and if you did, it would show in your work. Nevertheless, I recieved full marks.

Dear Journal,

Today I fought hard on the battlefield with Banquo. We destroyed Macdonwald and his forces. He was just so smug, the way he rode to battle and leaped off his horse in a perverted imitation of the valiant heroes in those books my wife reads. But Banquo and I just slaughtered him. By the time we got the the scum, Macdonwald, the battle was basically done. Despite the usual battle courtesies, I could not bring myself to touch him; I did not shake his hand. In my mind, I screamed and bade him farewell, but not a sound left my lips. I looked him in the eye and saw that he wasn't ashamed of what he had done. Keeping eye contact, I swung my sword and sliced him open from below his navel to the very end of his neck. As my sword left his flesh, he mouthed, "Farewell" and toppled over as though I had removed his spine rather than unseamed his skin. Just when I thought we were done, there were more! Banquo and I doubled our efforts slaughtering the army with the ferocity of one who's sole intent is to bathe in the blood of those he's slain. And we were. I even faced the King of Norway, who I've heard was assisted by another traitor.

On a lighter note, I look forward to going to Forres, where I may see the King, my friend Duncan. Hopefully I will return to Invernness thereafter. Oh how I miss my dear Lady. Though I fought for my king and my country, my battle cry in my mind is always "For Gruoch! For the Lady Macbeth!" I love her as I love myself.

Macbeth


	2. Second Entry

Dear Journal,

Yesterday as Banquo and I travelled to Forres, to King Duncan's castle, we chanced upon the witches, three pseudo-soothing old crones. As soon as they saw me, the flattering hags addressed me with titles I have not acquired, well, except for Thane of Glamis. I inherited that one from my late father nearly eight years ago. They said, "Hail Macbeth, Thane of Glamis!" (This did not strike me as odd.) "Hail Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor! Hail Macbeth, who will be king!" I was completely gobsmacked, but Banquo still had control of his tongue. He questioned my reaction (I may have jumped a little) and then asked why they had said nothing to him. That started the old hags off again. "Lesser than Macbeth, but greater," they said. "Not so happy, but happier," they said. "Thou shalt get kings, but thou shalt be none." Can this be truth? That is what I thought as I demanded more answers, but they just vanished like the demons they are. Banquo and I were just beginning to decipher the prophecies when Ross and Angus arrived. They came saying how the King heard of the battles. They said he told them to address me 'Thane of Cawdor', which confused me. Wasn't he still alive? But he was the traitor! And he was put to death today. I am the Thane of Cawdor; I shall have to practice that signature. But this means the witches were right. Are they right about the kingship too? I'd have to kill Duncan and get away with it. What hideous thoughts are running through my mind! Yet I must end this entry short, it's late and I want to write this great news to my beloved wife.

Macbeth – Thane of Cawdor


	3. Third Entry

Dear Journal,

I don't know how I got into this mess. My wife is simply amazing at persuasion, but I'm getting ahead of myself. When I got to Forres, King Duncan was so pleased with me (remember the battle) that he invited me to entertain him at my castle, Invernness. I sent my letter to Gruoch with a messenger and was sure to be clear that he was coming. I arrived late and told her Duncan would come and spend the night. She said to act innocent and leave her to it. I told her we'd talk later. I think she's serious. Well, we decided we'd...kill...Duncan. (That's so difficult to write.) The night he arrived, we had a great feast. However, I was unable to enjoy the festive banquet. My abdomen felt as though there were many millipedes battling themselves within me. At one point, I had to leave the room. My head was rushing and my mind continuously thought and rethought without drawing conclusions. I decided I was not going to do it. As I stood up to return to the banquet and my quests, Lady came out. She was fuming, though none would know it but me. She stood too straight, her face a little too defined, her eyes too dark. She seemed to be sharp and I wondered, fleetingly, if she'd cut me with an embrace. I tried to tell her I wouldn't do it, but then she grew livid. She said, "From this time such I account thy love. Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire?" I was so unprepared, all I could do was splutter like a fool. The witch of a wife of mine was not finished. She verbally ripped me from my manhood like the skin of a grape. She peeled at my resistances as one would an orange. With her fingernails disguised as words, she clawed at my heart. She said if she had promised as she claims I have, she'd smash her own child, our child, even as she fed it and seen its smile. Does she not know that to kill our child (hypothetically) would be to kill a part of me? She planned the ruse, but I will only do it in sullen reluctance, as a slave to her bidding.  
_Later  
_If only a quill and parchment could convey the anguish, the despair, the guilt ripping and rippling though my body. My hands, they are stained with the blood of Duncan, whom I have twice betrayed. I deserve nothing but torture, not even the breaths I take should be allowed. And Gruoch! How could I have not seen the cruel monster dwelling in her heart, no, her soul? She ridicules no remorse, bears no guilt. Why, her only regret was using our own wine to get the poor guards drunk. My wife, my other half has betrayed me nearly as much as I Duncan. Where did my loving Lady go? Was it the chance for power? Was it all a facade turned disgust and repulsion that I could believe her devil's advocate antics and act accordingly to them? This is my hope, even as I know it isn't true. My once-beloved wife has always had a heart from the pit, but she chose to suppress it till now. And now I've killed him. I've killed the King! I shall pay, for I can't sleep, I can't pray, I can't even wash my hands though the water's running! I jump, I turn, I cry out as a shadow of myself creeps around.

Macbeth


	4. Fourth Entry

Dear Journal,

I have realized that Banquo could find out it was I, I who committed the horrendous murder of Duncan. His sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, have fled. The blame rests on them or the guards, whom were killed by my 'wife'. I told Banquo I did it in my rage, but he could easily figure out it was me. He was there when the witches foretold of what was to come. This makes Banquo dangerous. I'd tell Gruoch, but then the siren would say to kill him too! Banquo, my dear friend. I could never, but that's what I said about Duncan...and it would halt the problem...  
_Later  
_I ordered three murderers to kill Banquo and Fleance, Banquo's son. Yesterday they left after the pair. There is another banquet today. I didn't kill him myself because I am sure I would hesitate, that pause could lose me my life. I hold mine in higher regard than his, for I am King. I ordered Fleance's death too, because of what the sooth witches said. Fleance will not get the throne from me. I told the murderers I wanted no connection between their mission and me. Tonight they returned, saying Banquo is dead, but Fleance escaped in the confusion. After I went to sit from talking to them, I saw a corporeal Banquo in my seat. I jumped visibly and shouted at him to leave. My guests exchanged awkward looks I did not see until later. Banquo did not leave. As I raged at him and fell into a phase of denial and depression against him, I was dimly aware of the Lady humiliating me further, saying I was sick and this happened often. I wanted to shout at her that it is **not** a regular occurrence for dead people to show up at banquets. I may have, actually, but my mind is a little hazy there. Then my interfering wife sent them all home with her apologies. Sure, just invite all the important people so they can see me, the raving lunatic. She'll get her comeuppance, my poisoned Gruoch.

Macbeth


	5. Fifth Entry

Dear Journal,

Macduff has been acting odd. He did not come to the banquet and he has fled Scotland. Some say he is in England where Malcolm is said to be. I went back to the witches to make them tell me more this time. They did not, but apparitions appeared from their cauldron. An armed head saying to 'Beware of Macduff!' A bloody child said I could not be defeated by any many born of a woman. There was a crowned child saying I need not worry until Birham Wood moves to me. These are curious clues, but satisfying too. For what man is not born of a woman? And what forest can move? Then Lennox comes and tells me that Macduff is for certain in England. I was so mad. When I got home I went to the furthest corner of my castle and slammed doors for an hour. I ordered Macduff's wife and children be killed, along with anyone else who traces him in his line.

Macbeth.


	6. Sixth Entry

Dear Journal,

I have heard from her maidservant that Gruoch is acting odd. That's what she said. But from the way she describes it, I'd say my wife has gone barking mad. She sleepwalks, she sleep-talks, she writes secret things and hides them. The gentlewoman refuses to divulge what my wife says in her madness, but I can guess. What else has she done that could cause this agitation than the large role she played in Duncan's murder? Thus I've narrowed it down to guilt. Interestingly enough, this is also what Gruoch's maidservant informed me the doctor said. I suspect they will not reveal their knowledge of her deeds. Deeds that have left her guilt-ridden so tragically that her least nonsensical actions are to imitate washing her hands. Yet it's no less than she deserves. The greatest irony is that she has betrayed herself. At my mention of terrible bloodied hands that shall never come clean, she scoffed. I can very clearly hear still, her voice ringing out, "My hands are of your colour, but I shame to wear a heart so white." Now look at her. I feel no pity, for the cruel mistress of my heart hath destroyed it. She deserves it. I despise her! Not so long ago I loved her, but I did not see who she was.

Macbeth


	7. Seventh Entry

Dear Journal,

It's too late. The armies are coming. By carrying boughs, the army gives the impression that Birham Wood marches to Dunsinane, my new home. I have learned through various older citizens that Macduff was not born so much as removed by hand from the womb (through the stomach). So this will be my downfall. I know I cannot beat Macduff and without me, Malcolm's army shall prevail. I will pretend to have not known though. Perhaps the man lied. But these aren't even the worst. My precious **Gruoch is dead**. This is awful! **I do love her.** I only wish I had seen if before it was too late, but she killed herself and it's all my fault. I made too many rash decisions. The decision to kill Duncan, to kill Banquo, to kill Macduff's family...oh how he must hate me. He will come to kill me, to avenge for his family's deaths. But I didn't think! I was power-hungry, scared, and angry at myself for my lack of self-control. It's good that I will die, for I am a dishonourable man, let alone King. Gruoch was right every time she called me less of a man. But I just wanted to make us happy. If only I hadn't met the witches, my love would still be alive. My life is not worth living. I'd kill myself now, but I don't deserve the mercy of saving myself humiliation. I hope Macduff does it long, slow, and painfully, for what I did, and I am the worst traitor in history. I don't even deserve that title.  
**This is the end.**

Macbeth

_later_

Post-script: (Gruoch, I'm sorry and I love you!)


End file.
